Today, October 6, is my Dad's birthday. He has been gone three years, but his presence seemed close this past weekend when his beloved Phillies won the NL East Division. A year ago, when the Phils made it to the post-season for the first time in 14 years, I wrote the following column for The Mercury.
Except for the few sentences about specific plays in last year's games, the message is relevant this year, too, in memory of my Dad and in honor of all aging ballplayers and enthusiastic fans.

Oct. 20, 1993: The Phillies were playing Toronto in the World Series in a night game, their first post-season appearance in 10 years.
Even the most cynical would not have thought it would take another 14 years to enjoy a home playoff again.
That night in Pottstown, a hundred or so sports fans missed the start of the televised game to attend a sports banquet at The Elks Club. The event was the 16th annual induction ceremony for the Pottstown area chapter of the Pennsylvania Sports Hall of Fame.
Among the inductees that evening was a ball player “who starred in just about every league in the Pottstown area, from Berks County to the Main Line.” My dad, Jim Egolf, was the last of the five inductees to step to the podium that night,
Our family was there in full force to celebrate Dad’s induction, but we were a little worried about his speech. Dad, who was 77 at the time, suffered from aphasia, a speech difficulty as the result of a stroke, and we did not know if he could successfully complete an acceptance speech.
The first four inductees were long-winded, some of them with more eloquence than others, and we silently fretted as it became time for Dad to approach the podium.
When he took his turn, his words were few, but captured the mood of the room better than anybody on that October night.
“I want to thank everybody who voted for me. Let’s go home now, and watch the Phillies,” he said to a room of rousing applause.
In the next day’s Mercury, then-sports editor Tom McNichol described Dad as the “cleanup hitter” who kept his speech short and sweet. “Egolf’s brief speech was the perfect punctuation” for an induction banquet of local sports fans, McNichol wrote.
My Dad’s baseball career lasted through the 1930s and into the ’40s in amateur and semi-pro teams throughout the region. He was introduced at that Hall of Fame banquet as “the best defensive catcher of his time.” When his playing days ended, he coached youth teams for another 15 years or so, including two years with the Boyertown American Legion team in the early 1960s.
He was a lifelong Phillies fan. He loved them, hated them, cursed them and cheered them, but never stopped watching them. Even in his moment of pride in 1993, he was anxious to get home and turn on the TV.
When they were hitting, Dad was happy. But you could hear the swearing start at those times when innings ended with two runners on base after blowing a chance to score.
He believed in lightning-speed throws and hits when it matters. That was how he played the game and how he exhorted the Phils with his armchair-coaching.
He would have had more to say about Ryan Howard baubling the ball at first base in Saturday’s game than his solo homer. He would have praised Jimmy Rollins triple with two men on during Sunday’s game more than Pat Burrell’s home run Saturday when they were already down by 3.
The newspaper clippings of Dad’s playing days describe him as a clutch hitter and a catcher who protected the plate and second base.
“If a runner started off first and Jim was behind the plate, all I had to do was hold up my glove, and that ball was there,” said the Rev. William Harner, a second baseman of Dad’s era who delivered the eulogy at his funeral two years ago.
Now, 14 years after that World Series that we hurried home to watch, the Phillies are back in the playoffs.
John Kruk, Darren Daulton and Lenny Dykstra are long gone. But so is Mitch Williams, and for that, we are all thankful.
Dad would have loved these 2007 Phillies. A 44-year-old pitcher from Souderton, a shortstop who hits, steals and throws ’em out at the plate, and a manager who grumps and grouses but holds the team together.
He would have grumbled approval at their high moments and cursed under his breath at their low ones. But like all Phillies fans, he would have never stopped watching them or wanting them to win.
Oct. 20, 1993, provided one of the proudest moments of my Dad’s life when he was inducted into the state Hall of Fame. He didn’t pause long to savor the moment.
He just went home to watch the Phillies.

"You know what I don't like about the paper? It's all bad. It would just be nice to see some good news in the paper for a change."



Of all the opinions people feel compelled to share with me, that is the most often repeated.

It is also the most inaccurate.

The mix of "good news" and "bad news" and "neutral but interesting" news in The Mercury on any given day is about equal. Some days, the good seriously outweighs the bad.

Today's top story: "Lively, emotional service honors the life and work of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr."

Yesterday: "Gateway to Growth. Planners eye master plan for Route 100 in Norco" shared top billing with "Heating oil price spike drives call for help."

Saturday: "Pair convicted of second-degree murder" -- okay, I admit a murder story is dismal -- but the top photos on the front page were young-at-heart seniors at Frederick Mennonite Community staging a Winter Olympics event. And even the murder story included a positive profile of the victim, "Her life was not in vain."

We suffer the identity crisis of being the bearer of bad news at the same time we want people to like us. We want to be the messenger invited into your home, as well as the resource you use for information. And, we like to inspire and make you smile while we're informing.

Sometimes, the information is bad news. People die in car crashes; children perish in fires; politicians make false promises; thieves embezzle from the elderly.

But there is good news to be told, too, and we especially relish the chance to help make the news even better.

Lindsay Spengler is a young Boyertown area woman who got a second lease on life after the community raised more than $200,000 for experimental medical treatments. The son of a Pottstown police dispatcher was given a Wii in a story that brought together the police department and a community donor. Operation Holiday this year raised $50,000 which we distribute annually in gifts and food to needy children.

These good-news stories came about because of our relationship as a community newspaper with the people of the community. When people say newspapers are a dying breed, these are the stories I remember. Any TV station or Web site could bring you film of a house fire. But then your community newspaper takes it a step further and invites you to donate to a fund to help those left homeless.

You know what I like most about the paper? It makes a difference in people's lives, for better or for worse.

There are few stories that attract more readers, or touch more hearts, than a pet story.
The story of Josh, the abandoned puppy who needed a heart operation, his big eyes staring off the front page of The Mercury with a veterinary cone around his head, was talked about among our readers for weeks after it appeared in April, 2006.
And, it got results.
The folks at Diane's Discount Pets, who were seeking donations to pay for the surgery, had offers from dozens of Mercury readers who wanted to adopt the dog and pay his medical bills. One person dropped $1,000, no questions asked.
When I wrote last summer about the loss of our family dog, Holly, I received more email response than I have ever received on one topic, either as a reporter or editor.
So it was no surprise that I found myself in a traffic jam Saturday morning at the Berks Animal Shelter after The Reading Eagle ran a front-page story about 55 puppies acquired from a Lehigh Valley kennel.
The story was accompanied by 15 photos of puppy faces.
At least one of them was looking at me.
The day after the story was in the paper, my husband and I went to the shelter to be faced with a traffic jam, cars parked along the roadsides, and families lining up to see the puppies. We joined hundreds of other couples, filling out an application. The forms will go into a lottery to determine the 50 potential families to be invited back to adopt.
The response was a reminder of a truth we know in the newspaper business: Put a dog's face on the front page, and people will come -- in droves -- to rescue it.
This time, however, the power of the press is working against me. I really want to adopt the red daschund, or maybe one of the perky Westies, that we saw on Saturday. We have been without a dog in our house for several months, and the cleanliness and the quiet are becoming unsettling. What is a lack of dust when compared to the boisterous welcomes or the loyal following-around that a dog brings to a family home?
It's time to get a puppy.
Now, I just have to win the lottery.